


his hand will not tremble

by whiplash



Category: The Originals (TV)
Genre: (And Except for Klaus), (Except for the Voyeurism), M/M, Power Dynamics, Safe Sane and Consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 16:42:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5255750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiplash/pseuds/whiplash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Klaus knows the width of Elijah’s shoulders and the narrowness of his waist, every scar and freckle and birthmark, and has never considered it any stranger than knowing his own body. But this… this somehow strikes him as a very different thing.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	his hand will not tremble

”It’s amazing what a difference it makes,” Freya says.

Klaus, lost in his sketching, doesn’t pay her any attention. Not that such a minor thing stops his newfound sister from burdening him with the boring particulars going through her head. Squinting down at the rough outlines of his drawing Klaus tries to recall how he’d cured his Rebekah of that annoying habit… only to wryly acknowledge to himself that, to date, he hasn't.

“He’s not as tense,” Freya continues, “and he fidgets less. I feel like I should send her flowers. Or a box of chocolates. What do you think?”

When he doesn’t answer she lobs a book at his head. That would be another thing that she has in common with Rebekah. They both seem to have inherited their tempers straight from dear old Mikael. It doesn’t hurt but the impact causes his charcoal to slide wildly across the paper.

“I _think_ you’ve caused me to ruin my work,” he replies, scowling down at the ugly smear of black. “As for whatever you’re going on about, all I’ve truly heard was something about chocolate. Should I take it to mean that you’re on your period?”

“I’m talking about Elijah’s new girlfriend! He’s all soft around the eyes. Not to mention less inclined to organize everything alphabetically. I think we should send the lucky girl some chocolates. Or flowers. Or a fruit basket.”

Then she frowns. Picks up another book. Weighs it thoughtfully in her hands.

“Or how about this,” she says, and her voice’s sweet now. “Maybe we just don’t kill her. How about that, baby brother? Think you could manage?”

Impressed despite himself Klaus blinks. Cheeky little witch.

“Contrary to what you might believe, big sister,” he answers, his artwork quite forgotten as he summons a wide grin and leans back in his chair, “I’ve not intentionally made a habit of killing my brother’s love-interests. I don’t actually care who Elijah fucks.”

 _…as long as he stays loyal to the family,_ he doesn’t add. _As long as they don’t take too much of his time and attention. As long as they don’t make Elijah forget his promise of always and forever._

“Wow,” Freya says. “You are so transparent that I can just about make out the wall behind you. That’s impressive. Aaanyhow… consider this a friendly warning. Elijah seems happy, possibly for the first time since I met him. I find it suits him. Do anything to ruin it and we’ll have words.”

Cheeky indeed. Klaus has a reputation to uphold as someone who doesn’t take orders well but he also has a terrible weakness for well-meaning, bossy blondes. So, just this once, he'll let it pass.

“Oh,” she adds, still all deceptively sweet, “that’s a no on the period. But thanks for asking. I’ll make sure to let you know the next time I’m surfing the crimson wave. You can get me a box of chocolates. Godiva. No nuts. Cheers!”

Then she flounces off before Klaus has a chance to recover.

xxx

The worst part – besides the ruined sketch and the horrible imagery – is that she appears to be right.

While he wouldn’t go so far as to claim that Elijah looks happy he does certainly give a less miserable impression. Soft around the eyes, Freya had claimed, and as Klaus inspects his brother across the dinner table he can see what she means. There’s not as much tension in his face, or around his shoulders. Less ice in his expression, perhaps even a smidge more warmth.

“How’s Hayley?” he asks, as a way of testing the waters.

Elijah’s face shutters within seconds. Lowering his fork to the table, he reaches for the napkin and wipes his mouth. It’s the kind of slow, deliberate actions which make lesser creatures turn twitchy and which, over the centuries, has earned Elijah his own kind of reputation.

“Why?” he eventually asks. Only it’s Elijah so it’s more like _hwy_.

“Just wondering,” Klaus says, offering his most sunny smile.

Apparently it’s less than reassuring because Elijah stands up, abandoning his French toast. It seems a waste as he’s already cut the bread into perfectly symmetrical squares and herded all the blueberries into a pile on the side. Although he’s never voiced the belief out loud, Klaus has always held his brother’s fussy behavior responsible for all that nonsense about obsessive compulsiveness in vampires.

“Leave her alone,” Elijah snaps.

But he doesn’t sound guilty. Or even tragically lovelorn. Just annoyed.

Interesting.

xxx

If at first you fail, try again. Only this time, be more diabolical.

So Klaus follows his brother. It’s not easy to stalk an Original, but Klaus has his hybrid advantages. He keeps enough of a distance not to be seen or heard while following the familiar scent of expensive soap and aftershave. The true challenge lays in not getting distracted. Few people have such set, or boring, routines as his brother.

Elijah micro-manages the handling of the house, busying himself by eagle-eying the corners for dust and ensuring that the kitchen stocks Freya’s favorite brand of apple juice. He meets up with Marcel to play his part in their ridiculous fight club and, no doubt, torture himself with memories of Gia. He visits Hope across the street, further martyring himself by volunteering to babysit while Hayley and Jackson date.

When the utter boredom doesn’t all but send him to sleep, the ridiculous self-denial threatens to stick in Klaus’ throat. He’s just about to give up – preparing to let Freya know that she’s been smoking the wrong kind of herbs – when his brother disappears. One moment he’s in the bathroom, re-folding all the towels or perhaps changing his shirt for the third time that day, and the next he’s gone. Klaus allows himself a second to throw back his bourbon, then sticks his head out through the window to sniff the air for his brother’s scent.

xxx

So, the good news is that Freya’s still wrong. Elijah doesn’t have a secret love interest. The bad news is that he does appear to have some kind of secret. He meets up with a stranger in Treme. Not vampire, nor werewolf but all human.

They don’t speak beyond the initial greeting but walk side by side in quiet companionship until they reach an apartment building. Klaus can’t enter with them, but that doesn’t mean that he can’t get a front row seat from an empty apartment across the road. Leaning against the wall, he focuses his attention – his sight, his hearing, even his sense of smell – so that he’ll miss nothing.

xxx

“I didn’t think you’d be back,” the stranger says.

He’s a few inches taller than Elijah, broad across the shoulders and casually dressed. Since they entered he’s taken Elijah’s coat and offered him a drink but not a seat. His lack of manners has left Elijah stranded in the middle of the room, both his hands wrapped around the tumbler and his focus on an oil painting behind the stranger’s head.

“I wasn’t going to,” Elijah admits. “It's a terrible mistake. A personal failing of sorts.”

“If you’re having second thoughts,” the man begins but Elijah shakes his head.

“I’ve had second, third and fourth thoughts,” he says. It’s maybe meant to be amusing but it just comes out unhappy. “It changes little. In the end, I’m still here. Shall we begin?”

“If you’re having second thoughts,” the stranger says again, his voice firm, “then that’s perfectly all right, Elijah. Expected even. We can take it slow. Or we can just sit down and share a drink. We’ll talk about the weather or world events. It’s your choice.”

“I’m here,” Elijah repeats. “And I’m ready.”

The stranger nods, straightening up and squaring his shoulders.

“Same rule as last time,” he says. Or maybe asks. It’s hard to tell. “Same limitations.”

“Yes,” Elijah agrees.

“Then, please, let’s get comfortable.”

xxx

And it’s not like Klaus hasn’t seen his brother undress before, or hasn't ever seen him naked. They’d grown up together in a time and place where nudity was just part of everyday life. The five of them had all bathed together in streams and lakes, swimming and splashing underneath the summer sun. Klaus knows the width of Elijah’s shoulders and the narrowness of his waist, every scar and freckle and birthmark, and has never considered it any stranger than knowing his own body.

But this… this somehow strikes him as a very different thing.

xxx

Elijah sheds his clothes methodically and with great care; folding his jacket over the back of a dining room chair, pocketing his cuff links and undoing each button of his shirt before slipping it over his shoulders. He kneels on the floor to unlace his shoes, then shimmies his way out his suit pants and unpeels his socks, somehow making it all look graceful and elegant even though it shouldn’t be.

His hands hesitate for a moment over his grey briefs, which is when the stranger speaks again.

“You may leave those on, Elijah.”

Elijah nods then straightens. His face doesn’t give away any emotion, although his eyes do perhaps look unusually dark. He stands as still as a statue at the stranger’s approach, not even blinking as the man runs his fingertips over his bare skin.

“Take a seat, please,” the man finally says, gesturing towards the sofa. Turning his back on Elijah he then disappears into an adjacent room, only to return a few moments later with a blanket. It looks soft and light, the grey surface shimmering like velvet.

The stranger refills his own tumbler – not offering this guest the same courtesy – and then joins Elijah on the sofa. He settles in then rests his hand on Elijah’s shoulder. It’s a pre-arranged signal. Either that or they’ve done this so often that it’s turned into a Pavlovian response. Either way Elijah all but collapses at the gentle touch; his body sinking down until he’s horizontal on the sofa, his head pillowed by the stranger’s lap and his legs tucked up against his chest in order for him to fit.

“I know you said last time that you won’t get cold,” the man says as he arranges Elijah’s seemingly boneless body to his liking, “but I’m afraid I feel cold just looking at you. You’ll have to indulge me.”

And then he wraps the blanket over Elijah’s shoulders, protecting him from inquisitive eyes.

xxx

Klaus stares, unbreathing and unmoving.

His mind’s far less still though, his thoughts spinning and careening.

xxx

The stranger sips his scotch while listening to music, his free hand ghosting over the back of Elijah’s neck. Long minutes turn into half an hour, then an hour and more. The glass is long since empty but the music’s still playing and Elijah still hasn’t moved.

“Awake?” the stranger asks after an eternity has passed.

In response Elijah moves, his eyelids flickering open and his fingers flexing. He doesn’t speak though and perhaps his companion hasn’t expected it either. Perhaps Elijah never speaks during these encounters. Perhaps it’s one of the rules or limitations that they had mentioned earlier.

“Thought so,” the stranger says. “There’s a lot of tension in your neck. Now, I’m no masseur, but I’ve been told I give a decent back rub. There’s a bottle of oil in the bookshelf. Could you please…?”

And Elijah fetches the bottle and allows himself to be moved onto the floor. He sits between the stranger’s feet, his head braced against his knees. Air hitches in his throat as the man’s fingers dig into his shoulders, his body arching into the touch and his back curving even further.

He looks, and sounds, utterly vulnerable.

xxx

And Klaus, watching from across the street, seethes at the sight.

He’ll rip that man’s tongue out for daring to command one of the Originals. He’ll feed him his own eyes for having seen Elijah so weak and exposed. He’ll cut off his filthy hands for touching Klaus’ brother with such maddening familiarity.

And then, after that strange and despicable man has died a dozen terrible deaths, Klaus will dump the remains in front of his brother and demand an explanation. He’ll have the truth from Elijah’s own mouth, watch his brother’s face burn and his head bend with shame and if there turns out to have been others then Klaus will ensure they suffer the same fate.

And if Elijah dares ask for mercy, then Klaus will inform his treacherous brother that he’s doing it all for him. That he’s protecting him, and the family name, just as much as he’s punishing him for his miserable secret. That he’s doing the responsible thing, the right thing, the noble thing by making sure that Elijah’s secret stays untold.

And-

xxx

“There,” the stranger murmurs. “How do you feel? Better?”

“Mm,” Elijah agrees without lifting his head. He sounds drugged.

“You sound spacey. Let me get you something to drink,” the man says, moving his hand to ruffle Elijah’s hair. Grabbing hold of a handful he then tugs gently, causing Elijah’s head to loll to the side so that he can meet his eyes. “How about O negative? I hear everyone’s a fan…”

xxx

Klaus breathes, even though he doesn’t need the air. His nostrils flare with the force of it, the room filling with the sound of his harsh panting. If it wasn’t for that barrier keeping him out his hands would already be bloodied and that man would be lacking his spine. And Elijah… Elijah would turn back into himself and the unfamiliar creature wearing his skin would disappear.

Swallowing down a shout of fury Klaus slams his hand against the wall, breaking through the plaster but barely scraping the skin on his knuckles. Perhaps he doesn’t need to get into that apartment to stop the outrage from continuing. Perhaps he could just bring the building down upon them.

Then they would see how Elijah liked having his world rocked to its foundation.

xxx

The stranger hands Elijah a blood bag and Elijah, quiet and obedient, doesn’t ask for a glass to maintain his precious veneer of sophistication. Instead he empties it, swallowing deeply as if he’s been starving for it. A wet and greedy sound escapes.

And all along the stranger keeps a proprietary hand on his shoulder.

xxx

Klaus will break every bone in that hand and then shatter the bone dust into the sewers.

How has Elijah managed to keep this secret from him? How long has he snuck behind Klaus’ back to satisfy this mad need? And how can it be that Klaus has lived so many lifetimes by his brother’s side and yet not known him?

xxx

The stranger disappears into the bathroom, leaving Elijah behind on the floor. There’s the sound of water rushing through the pipes and when he returns the man has his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He kneels next to Elijah, his fingers tangling with Elijah’s and his face close to the top of Elijah’s head. It’s possible, though hard to tell from that particular angle, that he presses a kiss to the disheveled curls.

“I drew you a bath,” he then says. “Nice and warm.”

This time there’s nothing graceful about the way Elijah moves. Nothing to suggest that he’s ever sauntered through the halls of kings and queens with his head held high or prowled through dark places to destroy the enemies of his family. His legs seem unsteady, even wobbly, underneath him and the stranger doesn’t let go of his hand, keeping close the entire way to the bathroom.

Then the door falls shut behind them.

xxx

But a closed door and a couple of walls don’t keep Klaus out. Not truly.

He can hear the water splash and the stranger talking. The man gives casual orders – _raise your arm, lean your head back, close your eyes_ – and Klaus’ imagination fills in the missing pieces. Only it paints such a queer picture. His brother, the perpetual caregiver, allowing this stranger to-

Klaus’ mind stutters at the thought, unwilling to complete the sentence. Unsure of _how_ to even try and complete it.

Lost in dark musings he almost misses their return.

xxx

Elijah’s dressed again, his back straightening and his mask settling with each layer of fabric. He’s fidgeting with his clothing, straightening out imagined wrinkles and dusting off invisible dust. His eyes have lost the dark shine and he looks collected. The awful vulnerability’s gone.

“Still convinced that coming here was a mistake?” the stranger asks. He sounds fond. Amused. Perhaps even flirty, even though their little encounter has been close to platonic.

“Certain of it,” Elijah answers, not returning the smile. “Speaking of which, I’m afraid I need you to _forget everything that happened tonight. I never showed up. You spent the evening alone, drinking fine scotch and listening to beautiful music._ ”

The man nods, watching Elijah leave with glassy eyes.

xxx

And while that’s nothing but the very least of the many precautions that Elijah ought to take to protect himself, that small act still manages to sooth some of Klaus’ terrible rage. Oh, the stranger will still die. Elijah will still be made to suffer.

But not until Klaus has better understood his brother’s madness.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments welcome :)


End file.
